


fortune's fool

by kalypsobean



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:38:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tybalt loved mercutio. tybalt killed mercutio. romeo loved juliet. romeo killed tybalt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fortune's fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salvadore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/gifts).



Romeo should never have come.

This is something Tybalt knew implicitly. Their lines should never mix, never mingle, for naught but tragedy could come of it. Romeo had flouted that, sneaking in as he did; Mercutio was always weak when his friends were concerned. That was how he ever was, kind and open to joy in anything, though his choice in companions was to be questioned. 

Mercutio respected his position enough to keep it a secret, and that was a quality to be admired. He had many, of course, not least his way with words; the stream of compliments when they were together was always wecome, and the way he never failed to make a rendezvous. He was reliable and loyal. He was, in a word, adequate; he met all the needs Tybalt allowed himself to show. Of course, he was also related to the Prince, and that could never be underestimated. Tybalt had yet to use that particular connection, but it was a comfort that he could.

 

But now Mercutio stood between him and his quarry; though Tybalt could not tell if it was intended as a means to peace or a declaration of which side Mercutio would take, should it come to that. Romeo was pleading for peace; the words felt hollow, as if they travelled on still air and failed to resonate. There were words of love in that speech, but Romeo was not one to talk of love. Mercutio had talked enough of Romeo; the man could not love with anything but obsession. It would be rather stifling to be loved by Romeo, no matter what he meant. Mercutio was easy to love, for he was there when he was needed and absent when he was not. He was not needy or demanding; his presence was a balm when Tybalt was enraged, for he was always reassured of his place when they parted. 'Prince of Cats', Mercutio called him, for he came through many scandals unscathed. He felt stronger for the love Mercutio showed him, and yet now, he pleaded silently for another. He did so without the words he so loved to use, for even now he would not be the one to share their secret with even the ones they could trust not to bring them down. Tybalt knew him well enough to read it in his face - it was in the softness around his eyes, how they were not narrowed like Benvolio's or wide like Romeo's, and it was in the relaxed way he held his rapier; if Tybalt moved, Mercutio would not be able to defend, for his grip was loose and his weight was backwards, as if he did not want to fight. 

 

But it had been Mercutio who had enabled Romeo's transgression; Mercutio who thought he was untouchable for being in the favour of the Prince as well as holding his own affection. It was Mercutio who had brought the Montague blight into his family's breast, like holding a snake close to its prey to see if it will bite down. 

It was Romeo's influence, of course; Mercutio would never defy him so openly, or dare him to take action so severe. It was Romeo who had brought them here, and Romeo who must die for his honour. It was Romeo who stood in front of Mercutio, his hands empty, his arms wide, his torso open and unprotected.

 

Tybalt sprang forward, the way he had been trained, the way he had done so many times before, in alleys and fields away from curious eyes; yet he could not say what happened. His rapier stayed even, and he swore Romeo did not move, yet the blade did not pierce his heart but instead passed as if through him, and instead struck Mercutio. His eyes changed then, wide and flat as if shocked, and his mouth opened, as if to speak, yet there was no sound. For a moment, one that seemed to stretch out and hang in the air, that same stillness that had haunted this encounter from the beginning, he kept his gaze on Mercutio's, his rapier still in Mercutio's chest. Then, Mercutio began to fall, the blade sprang free, and Tybalt stumbled with the recoil. He was back, surrounded by those of his kin who stood with him, and he had fled with them, pulled by their hands on his arms, before Mercutio's knees had touched the ground.

 

If it were another day, Tybalt would have wrested his shoulders from his kinsmen and retreated; he would have sought Mercutio for what comfort he could give. There would have been assurances, couched in words so eloquent they seemed a poem against the usual discourse he endured. Mercutio would have forced him to sit, with touches so gentle that they felt like the wind kissing his skin; he would have been still and lax when Mercutio was finished, assured that there was no injury, and yet, he would have felt as exhausted as if he had recovered from one, sated as the fire drained from his veins by the skill of Mercutio's wicked and eloquent tongue.

Instead, Mercutio was laid low behind him, nursed by those he dared choose over one who held him beloved, and may yet have lived to speak one more time. Tybalt turned back, ignorant of the words of those who sought to guide him away.

 

Only Romeo remained, and he still spoke of love, that Mercutio waited for him yet. It was as if, for that instant, there was another who understood the allure of an affair, another who would not forbid him seeking a high not allowed within Verona's walls. Tybalt raised his rapier, still stained with blood, and pointed it again. That it would be Romeo who gave him a final blessing was almost enough for him to turn the answering blade away, but it would not do to salute Mercutio's spirit in such a cowardly fashion. Still, Romeo would have to pay his due, for the insult and then the harm he had caused, whatever reason he had for it. It was because of Romeo that all was lost. 

The blade entered his chest, as if it wanted him to share Mercutio's final pain.

Yet, it was Romeo's face that looked down on him, at the last.

**Author's Note:**

> I was so grateful to be assigned this request. I love Tybalt so much, but it's always Romeo who gets the pretty boy actors (seriously, all my favourites play Romeo, and I sit through it, but Tybalt is my bb.) It was a pleasure to turn this around and look at his point of view for a change, and while I had never seen him as with Mercutio, it makes so much sense on rereading. Thank you, salvadore, for a wonderful request, and happy reading!


End file.
